


hospital joy and misery

by odoridango



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eren Has Medical Mojo, Kinda Awkward Levi, Mostly Gen, Oddly Benevolent Erwin, Other, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:45:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odoridango/pseuds/odoridango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Scouting Legion gets struck down by sickness, and thanks to his father's background, Eren is required to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hospital joy and misery

**Author's Note:**

> Before we go anywhere - nobody dies. This is not really epidemic fic, it just tries to aim for a serious atmosphere. For eruriren week day 7: surprise, but it's really kind of gen?

It’s spring when the fever sweeps in, taking out two-thirds of the Scouting Legion force. The halls are silent, the forests are still, and there’s talk of a quarantine, there’s talk of death. The first case occurred two or three weeks ago, and they’re still not in the clear. Medical says it’s an advanced version of the virus that’s in the mandated, districtwide vaccinations, and patients in the first wing, the first to get sick, are closely monitored. The staff are beside themselves trying to look after the sick, and it’s been difficult to get more doctors stationed at HQ. Braver soldiers step forward to volunteer to help, donning white scrubs, running routine checks.

For Eren, assisting is not an option. He’s a doctor’s son, and they need all hands on deck. Captain Levi just signs off on the order, trains him personally when there’s time. There are no experiments when both Hanji and Moblit are sick in wing three. A rash, fevers and chills, fluid in the lungs, vomiting and nausea. All typical traits in colds and fevers, but no one’s gotten better yet, no one’s come out on the other side. The patients in wing one have little to no energy, seem to sleep away most of the day.

Mikasa and Armin are in wing two, along with Jean, Sasha and Bertholdt. Mikasa and Jean are the only ones left to blink, or scowl at him everyday when he comes in for rounds, and Eren can’t help but cling to Mikasa’s weakening hand for a couple minutes, biting his lip, gathering himself before he sweeps out of the wing to check wing three, where Connie, Historia and Ymir are.

Wings three and four are the worst. The patients are still coherent, so he’ll run into problems sometimes.

A male soldier, Johannes Bertman, judging by his medical records, flips his food tray, upending over Eren’s face and scrubs.

“Get away from me,” he hisses, “Monster like you probably got us all sick in the first place.”

Ymir makes a wicked, wheezing guffaw two beds over. “Which is why his sister and his best friend are sick too. The Commander and Captain are still fine, why not gun for them first? Nice try, but be a little smarter next time.”

“Eren’s not that kind of person,” Hanji croaks at the end of the wing, “Or that kind of titan! According to medical, the virus can actually be sterilized at very low temperatures, and I was running tests with Eren up until three days before I got sick! His skin would just burn the sickness right off.”

“Isn’t that more evidence?” the female soldier right next to Eren says shakily, looks him in the eye, gaze skittering away. He’s noticed that. She never looks at him, seems a little afraid to touch him, asks him to use gloves, pretends to sleep when he’s here. “Why did you do this?”

Food splattered all over his front, eyes red-rimmed and skin sallow from lack of sleep, time spent worrying over his friends, wondering if the Captain and Commander will be next.

“I,” he says, and even though his voice is level, the rage in the words is palpable, “haven’t done a damn thing.”

As the ward degenerates into a yelling, heckling mess, Eren’s shifts are quietly reassigned to the first two wings only.

Captain Levi often comes by to check on him. It’s not uncommon, after all, it’s part of his job to supervise Eren, and keep tabs on his whereabouts. He won’t go in the wings, because medical staff won’t let him, but his voice seems to comfort the soldiers. Humanity’s Strongest, even against sickness. Eren has to be scrubbed pink from a hot shower before they’re allowed to meet.

This time, he brings the Commander with him. Eren snaps upright in a salute, movements sluggish.

“At ease. Hello, Eren,” the Commander says, sinking into the squashy, age-old couch backed up against the wall of the break room. “You look tired.”

Uncertain how to respond, Eren nods.

“They’ve kept him in the first two wings,” Levi says flatly. “Some idiots in the last two kept trying to pick fights.”

“I see. I was hoping to ask how Hanji and Moblit were recovering, but I suppose you haven’t had them in your rounds for a while.”

“My shift was switched last week,” Eren says, breathing the words out on a sigh, can’t help but slump a little into the table at his back. “Squad Leader’s still pretty alert but they run high fevers every couple days, and Moblit’s basically wiped out. He was recovering from a cold when he caught this, so he has a bad cough, and mostly just sleeps.”

“And what about you?” Captain Levi says sharply. He gives Eren a quick, clinical head-to-toe sweep—he’s been looking at Eren quite a lot these days, Eren realizes, always asking questions. Did you eat? Did you sleep? Did you take a shower? Did you do your muscle exercises? Even morning exercises with him have been less strenuous.

Has the Captain been worried? Maybe that’s why the Commander is here, watching them both with steady eyes, like he always does. The Commander has his own way of looking, measured and quiet, but weighty. Through their weekly pre-experiment meetings, Eren recognizes the slight downward twist to the Commander's mouth, the hidden, genuine concern there. Even in the midst of Eren's exhaustion, it warms him.

“I’m fine,” Eren says, mustering a smile.

Two days later, he collapses in the middle or rounds in wing two. The next day, Captain Levi goes to the infirmary in the middle of the night, and quietly checks himself in. Together, they have their own private wing, mostly because it’s rapidly becoming clear that Eren isn’t reacting to the sickness the same way as the others at all, and Levi insists on supervising him in case anything unexpected happens.

He’s awake but barely lucid, running a ridiculously high fever. Unlike the others, all of his coughs are dry, and his lips crack and split, and don’t heal. They keep him on liquid food only, because he doesn’t have the coordination or coherence to eat solid food, and he struggles against the orderlies when they try to feed him.

“Nn—no,” he growls, skin strangely pale, cheeks blotchy with fever, and a bit of the rash crawling up his neck. He rubs furiously at the rash, pushes away the arms of the nurses who try to feed him, and when they try to trap his wrists he shrieks and writhes, kicking out and narrowly missing his food tray.

“Oi, Eren,” Levi says from the other bed, scowling and watchful. “You need to eat. Let them feed you.”

Eren seems to respond to the sound of his voice, whipping his head to the side and blinking, unfocused, in Levi’s direction, but he only bares his teeth and fights back twice as hard, and it makes him cough like he’s hacking up a lung. With a curt grunt, Levi slowly, painfully rolls himself out of his cot, ignoring the protests of the orderlies, ignoring aching joints and his own fever chills, wobbles his way to Eren’s bedside and takes Eren’s hand, squeezes it.

“Eren,” he says, louder. He winces as Eren’s hand grips onto his, too tight, too strong, surprisingly so for fever. He yanks on Levi’s arm a couple times, as if to make sure he’s really there, and his struggling begins to subside, leaving only his wheezing, panting breaths, small coughs rocking his body. Levi’s own body feels like jelly, and he hates it, the odd, unfamiliar feeling of not having complete control of his own limbs, the feeling of being powerless. Just the small trek between their beds leaves him feeling drained. The nurses back off, wary, but considering Levi’s apparently calming presence a small plus.

“C-Cap’n—“

“That’s right. I’m your Captain, so you’re going to listen to what I say,” Levi says, squeezing Eren’s hand again when it looks like he’s ready to keep fighting. “You are safe. Okay? You are in the infirmary. I’m right fucking next to you, the only people who are with us, are the nurses.”

Eren makes this odd noise, blinks, confused. “What?”

“ _You’re sick_ ,” Levi says. “You need to eat.” He beckons to the nurse who holds a bowl of gloopy, potato soup; he takes Eren’s hand and has him touch the bowl, watches Eren struggle to understand where he is. “Look. Soup. They’re just trying to feed you. Okay?”

With shaking hand, he ladles a spoonful, brings it up to Eren’s mouth, fighting against the ache. Eren bumps his mouth against the spoon, licks his lips. He releases Levi’s hand to feel along Levi’s trembling grip, to nudge the spoon forward and finally take a sip. He makes an agreeable sound, and with Levi’s help, he manages to get the entire bowl down.

When Erwin visits the next day, wrapped in layers of protective clothing, their beds are pushed together, and Levi is propped up with his back against the wall, Eren curled in the bed next to him with his arm thrown over Levi’s waist. 

“How are you?” Erwin asks, sets a fresh basin of cold water on the side table, along with two sets of clean clothes. Levi’s cravat is gone, and his pale skin has bloomed with the redness of his fever, and the slight rash crawling along his collarbone. 

“Tired,” Levi grunts, lets Erwin wet a towel and wipe along sweat damp skin, mouth parting on a wordless sigh of relief. “Kid wouldn’t settle unless I was near him. Shoving the beds together seemed to solve the problem. He’s less agitated, and seemed a little more aware when he woke up this morning.” 

“I spoke to Hanji,” Erwin says, slides the towel up to Levi’s neck, swipes along cheeks and forehead, slicking his hair back. “It’s a little similar to his shifting sickness, isn’t it? They think perhaps his body is reacting in a similar way to try and return to equilibrium.” 

“That would explain a lot,” Levi says, takes the clean change of clothes with undisguised eagerness. He’s got nothing Erwin hasn’t seen before, in communal showers, and frantic fumbling with clumsy hands on more unbearable nights. “He’s running a lot warmer than any of us in the first place.” 

He doesn’t talk about himself, but Levi’s moving slowly, pauses every so often to blink and recollect himself and his trembling hands and legs. He scowls when Erwin helps button up his shirt, but doesn’t protest. 

“His turn,” he says curtly, nudging Eren. 

Erwin can feel the heat of Eren’s forehead before he even lays a hand on it, and Eren curls into the damp coolness of Erwin’s hand, stirs as Erwin gently shakes him by the shoulder. 

“Eren,” Erwin calls, “Wake up.” 

Levi runs a quick hand through sweat-damp brown hair, wincing a bit at the feel. “Hey, Eren. Get up. Come on.” 

The waking is slow. The most notable thing about Eren’s sickness is how quiet he is, both in conversation and in body language. Normally, Eren is incredibly expressive, talks not only with his mouth, but also with his hands and the turn of his body. 

“C’mmander,” he murmurs, eyes lighting on the damp towel in Erwin’s hands. 

“Hello, Eren,” Erwin says. “I have clean clothes for you. Would you like to do your own wipe down?”

Eren nods, head lolling, clumsily discarding his shirt, dragging the cloth across his body in erratic circles, making frustrated mumbles and growls about his own lack of coordination, dropping the towel multiple times. When he coughs his whole body shudders, but he doesn’t sound as bad as he did the day before. He gives them small glances, lips pinching together, and for a while, stops moving.

He offers the towel in Erwin’s direction, embarrassment painting his features. “Need help,” he mumbles.

Erwin smiles. “Of course.” Between Erwin’s swift, efficient swipes with the towel, and Levi’s enthusiasm for clean laundry, they’re able to get Eren passably refreshed.

“I should mention the reason I came today,” Erwin says. “Some of the patients in wing one have been released. They’ve gotten better. Medical’s been implying it’s curable since day one, but with this it’s confirmed.”

“Good,” Levi says, bearing Eren’s sudden slump against him with a grunt.

“They’ll get better,” Eren echoes, closing his eyes, rubs his cheek against Levi’s shoulder.

“Yes, they will,” Erwin replies, looking on with his steady eyes, steady smile. “Which brings me to ask: how are you Eren?”

Even fever-ridden, and vaguely delirious, Eren’s smile is brilliant. “I’m fine,” he says, coughs a little into a fist. “I’ll be just fine.”


End file.
